The Trees Have Eyes
by firstofhername
Summary: Robb Stark knew he'd marry for duty. He just didn't think he'd be marrying her. (Pre-Season 1- Season 8)
1. Chapter 1 - Welcome to Winterfell

**Disclaimer: I don't own GoT, obviously. The Skagosi come from George himself, as do certain aspects of their culture. However, as there is little known about them, I have developed their culture and put my own twist on them. If you're curious which parts I created and what I got from the books, feel free to ask! But I'm definitely not claiming ownership of them, so no reporting, okie dokie? Story rated M for language and** **occasional sexual content. ****Thanks for reading! (I imagine Bria resembling Sophie Skelton in Outlander.)**

Robb panted softly as he wiped sweat from his brow. It was an unusually hot day out, so Ser Rodrick had called practice early, but he had stayed out an extra hour to practice on the dummies. "Robb!" The boy looked up and smiled as he locked eyes with his father on the rafts. "Come inside, son. You'll catch heat sickness out here. There's something I'd like to talk to you about."

Robb nodded before cleaning up his station, knowing that Ser Rodrick would have his neck if he didn't. The eldest Stark made his way inside the castle, the dark halls much cooler than the air outside. His chambers were on the way to his father's solar, and his doublet stuck with sweat from the efforts of his practice, so he quickly shuffled into his room to change. As he was pulling off his doublet there was a cry of disgust from the corner of the room, making him grunt in surprise. He swung around to confront the source, and sighed at when he saw.

"Really, Arya?" He walked over to the corner where she was hunched in a ball, head tucked into her knees. "What has Septa Mordane told you about entering boys' rooms?" When she didn't have a quick response, his eyebrows pulled down. "Arya?" The young girl only let out a sniffle. Robb frowned and sat down, pulling his knees up to mimic her stance. "What's wrong?"

" I don't mean to be difficult, I really don't. It's just... It's just not me!" she exclaimed, chin still tucked into her knees as she looked up at him, eyes watery. Robb's heart broke a little at the sight. He said nothing, only waited for her to be comfortable enough to say what she wanted to. "Septa Mordane yelled at me today in front of the other girls. Said I could actually be a good Lady if I tried like Sansa did. But I _do_ try! It's just not fair," she said, face twisted in frustration.

While his heart went out to her, Robb couldn't help but feel a little happy at the situation. He willed himself to never forget the moment. Arya was hardly ever upset, mostly because her skin was too thick to break. And on the rare occasions she did need comforting, she always went to Jon. The fact was, out of all of his siblings, he was the least close to Arya.

Robb gave her a smile of sympathy. "I know it's not. But it's our duty. You're the toughest of us all, Arya. If I can do it, I know you can, too," he encouraged. Arya sniffled, but nodded. "I'll make you a deal. If you can attend all your classes for a fortnight, Jon and I will teach you how to shoot. Deal?" Arya pursed her lips before nodding. Robb smiled and gently cuffed her shin, before standing. "You can hide in her the rest fo the day, if you'd like. But if Septa finds out, pretend I didn't know, alright?" Arya smiled and nodded, before standing and curling herself into a ball on his bed.

Robb quickly laced on a new doublet, before leaving his sister in the quite confines of his room. He hurried to his father's solar, pausing to knock on the large doors. His father called him in and he entered, finding him at his desk. "I'm sorry for making you wait, father," he apologized, but offered no excuses. He would not lie to his father, but he would not sell out his sister, either.

"Take a seat, son." Robb did as he was told, taking a seat opposite his father. They sat in silence for a few minutes as his father read through some papers. It didn't bother Robb. There had been many days when he sat in the solar, simply watching his father work in an attempt to learn from him. When Ned finally sat down his papers and looked at him, Robb saw his grim expression.

"Your Uncle Benjen has received a raven from Skagos. Setrick Magnar has threatened to cut off all trade with the Wall," Ned said, cutting straight to the point. "He says he will not send away resources to a wall that does not protect his own people, not this close to winter." Robb felt a bubbling anger pool in his chest.

"He cannot! He is under oath," he said, eyebrows knitting. "He cannot seriously think Skagos could succeed in rebelling?" Ned sighed and sat back in his chair.

"Aye, it is true that the North would overpower them. But the Skagosi are much better at rebellion than the Ironborn. The last Skagosi rebellion lasted near a decade and cost the lives of thousands of Northerners, including the Lord of Winterfell. The waters around the island are too dangerous, the terrain too harsh. Not to mention they are fierce and unpredictable fighters. I will not risk it, and Lord Magnar knows this. Winter is coming," his father reasoned.

Robb nodded, but he did not agree. The Skagosi could not be allowed to throw a tantrum and go unpunished. The last rebellion his father spoke of had happened nearly a century ago. The Skagosi were primative and savage, nearly wildlings. They would stand no chance against the North's organized army. "Did Lord Magnar give any alternatives? Openings for negotiation?" Robb asked. The corner or Ned's mouth turned up, the closest he ever got to a smile. Robb swelled with pride at this. He knew that if his father was including him on this, it meant he trusted he was becoming ready for his role.

"Aye. He gave one." Robb waited for his father to expand on it, but he kept quiet for a moment. "You are ten and five, Robb. Four years younger than I when I became Lord of Winterfell. I feel I have prepared you well for role as Lord, and I am proud of how you have dedicated yourself to my teachings," Ned appraised. Robb's throat thickened, though he controlled his face well. They were words that Robb would hold with him until the day he died. "But there is something, I realize now, I have failed to prepare you for. And that, is the role of husband."

The swelling pride in his chest deflated into a type of dread as he realized the weight of his father's words. He'd always known he'd have to marry, and that when he did it was likely he'd have no choice in the matter. But the reality of the present situation hit him hard. He swallowed the lump of disgust building in his throat at the thought of a Skagosi bride and nodded, meeting his father's eye.

"I see. I'm sure I will learn as I go, father. And I have your example to look up to," he responded, voice clipped. Ned picked up on his tone and sighed, standing from his desk. He went to the corner cabinet and filled two cups with ale, offering one to Robb. It surprised him, as he was often only allowed a cup at feasts. He accepted it, taking a small sip.

Ned took his seat again, looking at Robb with a guarded expression. "Her name is Lady Bria, Lord Magnar's only daughter. Should you consent, she will be here within the month," he said, watching his son's reaction. Robb ran his thumb around the rim of the cup. He clenched his jaw and let out a long sigh, accepting his future.

"It's for the North," he concluded, looking up to his father. "I consent. I will marry..." he couldn't bring himself to say her name just yet. Ned's eyes softened and he nodded, taking a drink from his own cup.

"I'm sorry to ask this of you, son. But it is the first sacrifice of many that you will make for your people," Ned said, leaning forward. "And it will not be the hardest. But if you enter this marriage with an open mind, I daresay you could be very happy." Robb wanted to believe his father, wanted to see all the possibilities his future held, but all he could think of was the fact that he was basically marrying a wildling. "The Skagosi are an extremely religious people. Maester Luwin will prepare you for the wedding ceremony of the Old Ways, as they will be expecting."

"Yes, father," he responded, finishing his cup. After that his father dismissed him, telling him he needn't go to his lessons for the rest of the day. Instead, Robb found himself trailing into his chambers. Arya was still on his bed, fiddling with a knife she'd found. Usually, he'd be angered that she'd gone through his things, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Instead he threw himself face down on his bed next to her, mind racing a hundred miles a minute.

A wife. At barely fifteen, a wife. And then what? Children? He wanted a family, he knew that, but he always thought it be much later. First, his father would get old. That's when he'd begin his search for a Lady wife. And after his father passed, when he was Lord, he'd begin to have sons to groom as his heirs. Not this. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn't realize Arya had gone and fetched the rest of their siblings and Theon. A harsh shove to the shoulder from the Greyjoy was what finally woke him from his daze.

When he flipped onto his back, he jumped at the sight of all the Stark children staring at him in concern. "Thank the Gods!" Rickon's small voice exclaimed, his eyes wide. "We thought you might be _dead_!" Robb sighed and threw an arm over his eyes, scrunching his eyes.

"Really, Arya?" he asked in exasperation. Did she really have to get all of them?

"What?" she exclaimed defensively. "If you were dead, I didn't want to be the only one that saw it," she said, as if that made it better.

"What's wrong, Robb?" Jon asked, voice full of concern. Robb sighed and removed his arm from his eyes, sitting up to look at his siblings. His face curled in displeasure as he relayed the story to his siblings, watching as their faces morphed. Rickon and Bran looked scared, no doubt thinking of all the horrible stories Old Nan had told them over the years. Sansa looked positively scandalized and disgusted. Jon's face was one of shock, while Arya had a wide grin on her face.

But Theon's face had remained blank throughout the whole story. There was a beat of silence throughout the room as they all absorbed the information, before Theon's face split open and a loud barking laugh escaped. Robb watched with a look of resentment as his friend howled with laughter, slapping his knee. When he finally got a breath of air he looked at Robb and grinned, tears streaming down his face.

"That's worse than marrying a fucking _Frey_!"

* * *

**One Month Later**

Bria let out a shaky breath as the girls huddled around her, tugging on her hair._ "Almost done, my lady. The Lord will like it very much, I think," _Freeda said, putting another pin in.

"Common tongue only, please," she requested softly. "The Starks don't speak the Old Tongue. I'd like to practice."

"Of course, my lady. Winterfell is only an hour away. Are you excited to meet your husband?" Mertha asked from across the room as she prepared the new outfit. Bria swallowed thickly as she gave a weak smile.

"I am excited for the anticipation to be over. To start my new life, so that I might begin to let go of my old one," she explained, her heart tugging at the thought of her brothers at home. Mertha gave her a pitying smile and stood, holding the skirt up for her to examine.

"Here, my Lady. It is ready for you." Bria stood from her seat and looked in the tall mirror as Mertha tied the skirt around her waist, concealing the leather riding pants underneath. Her corset blended into the skirt, making it seem like a full length dress. The girls had twisted up the top half of her hair in a simple back knot, leaving the rest of her fiery hair to fall down her back. "Beautiful."

Bria shifted uncomfortably at her reflection. While it was true she looked pretty, she didn't look like herself. To say she was worried about impressing her betrothed was an understatement. She was well aware of the things Mainlanders said about her people. That they were savages and unkept and wild. She knew the North would be angry by the match, and it would be much easier to take out the anger on her than on her father who was tucked far away on Skagos. Her new life would not be easy.

Bria wrinkled her nose as she sat sidesaddle on her house. She'd refused the carriage, though she knew it was most proper, so her father insisted her ride in sidesaddle. The party of 100 began their move once more through the Northern hillside, the cold air biting at her bones in a way she'd grown to love. The closer they got to Winterfell, the more people they saw. She pretended not to see their sneers of disgust, though it was impossible not to.

_"The men here look like girls," _Serrita said, wrinkling her nose in displeasure. That wasn't entirely true, Bria thought, though they were much shorter and hard far less hair than Skagosi men. And some Skagosi women, at that. One thing she was worried about was her own height. She was tall for a woman, and a year older than her betrothed. She was sure he hadn't hit his growths yet, and even after them, she could still tower over him. It was something she could care less about, but she knew men cared about trivial things like that.

Her stomach began to turn as she saw Winterfell in the distance. More than once she thought she'd have to stop to hurl, but she managed to keep it down. As she approached the gates of the castle, she saw the bright red leaves of a weirwood tree peaking over the far wall. She forced herself to control her breathing and recited an old prayer to the gods, willing them to do their work.

The Skagosi began pouring into the field surrounding the gate, only her small central party passing through into the courtyard. Bria focused all her strength on her breathing as she rode in behind her guards. Her horse came to a halt behind theirs on the side. Bria went over her greeting in her head, not paying attention to where her horse had halted. Out of habit she slid off her horse without aid, only for her feet to slam down into a puddle of mud. Her eyes widened and her cheeks flushed as she felt mud spray up across the front of her skirt. _Gods, kill her now_. The brand new skirt, all for nothing. They'd think her a swine.

Bria forced back tears as she chewed on the inside of her cheek, before she followed her head guard, Morrigin, to stand in front of the Warden of the North. Morrigin's deep, rough voice echoed through the silent courtyard. "Her Ladyship, Lady Bria Magnara of house Magnar," he announced. Lord Stark's eyes turned to her, and he gave her a polite smile.

"It is an honor to finally meet a member of House Magnar, my lady," he said, bowing his head. Bria took the time to observe his face. It was wide and harsh, which was common in the North, but his hair was lighter than most Northerner's. He had a very thin beard surrounding a mouth that seemed to naturally sag in a frown, and a set of brown eyes which were level with her own. Bria attempted to smile back and dropped in a curtsey.

"You honor me by welcoming me into your home, Lord Stark," she responded, thanking the gods that her voice didn't tremble, though it came out accented against his. She looked to his left, locking eyes on a shorter woman with red hair, though a much darker red than her own, and a clearly forced smile on her face. She bowed her head in respect. "Lady Stark." The woman copied the action, but said nothing, keeping her eyes on the young girl.

"Lady Bria, may I introduce my son, Robb," Lord Stark said, motioning to the boy on his right. Bria swallowed back the bile that threatened to rise as she looked to him. He was not at all what she was expecting, because he didn't have much of the North in him. He was about three inches shorter than her, so the first thing she saw was a thick mop of auburn curls. At first she thought they were brown, until the sun hit them and shown the red undertones. The next thing she saw was a pair of clear blue eyes on sharp cheek bones followed by a thin scruff and a wide set of thick lips. He was not handsome, but pretty, she decided. Prettier than her.

She dropped once more in a curtsey before coming back up to look at him again. "I bring you a gift, my Lord," she said, turning to receive the small cloth from Morrigin. One in hand, she turned back to her betrothed, presenting it to him. He wordlessly took it from her, unwrapping it to see a withered red leaf, taken from her weirwood tree at home. He looked back up at her a nodded once, giving her a small smile.

"Thank you, my Lady. Accept this," he said, retrieving his own cloth from a black haired boy behind him, "as a symbol of my thanks." Bria unwrapped it and smiled as she saw the bright red leaf, still vibrant with life, as it was no doubt picked only an hour ago. She was thankful he knew of the exchange. Perhaps he knew more about her culture than she was expecting. "Welcome to Winterfell, my lady."

At the edge of the keep, the weirwood tree stood tall, it's crimson branches reaching towards the sky. The branches began to quiver and a single streak of red fell form the face's eye as it hummed with energy. It had begun.


	2. Chapter 2 - A Small Favor

**Disclaimer: I don't own GoT, obviously. The Skagosi come from George himself, as do certain aspects of their culture. However, as there is little known about them, I have developed their culture and put my own twist on them. If you're curious which parts I created and what I got from the books, feel free to ask! But I'm definitely not claiming ownership of them, so no reporting, okie dokie? Story rated M for language and** **occasional sexual content. ****Thanks for reading! (I imagine Bria sort of resembling Sophie Skelton in Outlander.)**

"Welcome to Winterfell, my lady," Robb greeted, reaching for her hand. She hesitated only a moment before giving it to him, trying to fight the awkward twitch in her fingers. Robb tucked her hand into the crook of his elbow and lightly pulled her forward, turning to face a line of individuals that stood behind him and his parents. "I'd like to introduce you to your future family."

Bria, so occupied with not seeming a fool, had completely forgotten she was wearing a skirt. In her rush to follow Robb, she'd stepped on the hem of it, sending her tumbling forward. Thankfully, Robb's grip had kept her from actually falling, but it didn't stop the humiliation she felt when a handful of snickers broke through the surrounding crowd. One of them, from a red haired girl in the line.

"This is my half brother, Jon Snow," Robb announced, motioning to the black haired boy from earlier who'd held onto her leaf. He was pretty, too. Jon did not smile or make any motion to greet her, just bowed his head in acknowledgment. Next was the ginger girl who had laughed at her. She seemed tall for her age, and Bria thought once she lost the rest of her baby face she'd be beautiful. "My sister, Sansa."

The girl put on a sickly sweet smile and dropped in a curtsey, clearly in a way that was mocking her. "My lady," she greeted, clasping her hands in front of her. It was one thing when Bria embarrassed herself, but another thing when a girl, who looked no older than 11, mocked her openly in front of others. Bria pursed her lips and tilted her head, appraising her appearance.

"Pòg le teine," she said, clearly catching the girl off guard. The girl-Sansa, shifted in place, her gaze flickering to look at Robb. Her smile fell and she looked nervous, no doubt realizing her mockery had not gone unnoticed. Bria smiled at her. "It means 'kissed by fire'," she explained, motioning to Sansa's hair, and then her own hair. "The Skagosi believe it means you carry favor with the Gods."

Sansa shifted once more before putting a smile back in place, clearly uncomfortable. Bria smirked inwardly, but turned to the next in line, a small boy with shaggy brown hair. "Right," Robb said after clearing his throat, clearly thrown off by the exchange. "My brother, Bran, and my sister, Arya." Before Bria even had the opportunity to speak, Arya stepped forward.

"You don't look ugly. I thought you were supposed to be ugly," she said matter of factually. Bria's mouth popped open in surprise, unsure of how to answer. Robb hissed something at her, no doubt an admonishment. But Arya pretended she hadn't even heard it. Instead, her face morphed with excitement and she seemed to bounce in place. "Is it true you eat humans in the winter?"

Sansa turned and hit Arya on the arm and scolded her quietly. Robb, Catelyn and Ned didn't bother to be quiet about it as they reprimanded her. She was aware of her small party shifting and whispering hotly, no doubt offended by the accusation. Bria pursed her lips and her eyebrows drew foreword as she looked down on the small girl. Morrigin's voice rose from behind her._ "This is how they fucking greet you,"_ he scoffed._ "And they call us the savage ones. Perhaps I should sh-"_

Bria raised a hand, stopping him mid sentence. She briefly drew her gaze across the small crowd, seeing how uneasy the harsh Old Tongue had made them. Bria returned her gaze to Arya, who still stared up at her in expectance, stubborn face unwavering. Despite her offense, Bria had to admire the little girl's courage. Unlike her older sister, she did not scare easily. "It's alright," she called over her shoulder to her people, "She meant no offense. No," she said, voice hard and void of emotions, "we don't eat people."

The air grew thick with tension and Robb, who she had, quite frankly, forgotten about, tugged gently on her hand. "Please, my lady. I'd like to show you our Godswood, if it please you." Bria held gazes with Arya for a minute longer before wordlessly turning away. Robb took this as his que and he escorted her away from the crowd of people, towards the end of the keep. As soon as they were out of earshot, he let out a deep sigh.

"I must apologize for my sister. Both of them," he added. "Arya has never been one for manners. That was not how I wanted our first meeting to go," he said, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. Bria couldn't help the unamused laugh that escaped her.

"It's fine, really. If I'm being honest, that went better than several of the scenarios I had imagined on the way here," she responded. The pair drifted into the Godswood, coming to a halt near the hot springs surrounding the great weirwood. "In one of my dreams, the only thing left living was my cat," she admitted, staring into the bleeding face. Robb let out a snort.

"Yes, I suppose it could've gone worse." The pair stared at the tree for a moment. "You've a cat?" Bria smiled briefly.

"Her name is Luna. She's quite a brat, to tell you the truth, but I've had her since I was young. She will stay in my chambers, if she bothers you," she said, moving to kneel before the great tree. "If you don't mind, my lord, I'd like to pray in solitude."

"Of course, my lady. When you are finished, you'll be escorted to your chambers. I'll come for you tonight, to bring you to the feast," he spoke from behind her. Bria simply closed her eyes and brought her hands up to cover her face, murmuring a prayer. She heard the sound of his footsteps retreating, and when she was in complete silence, she let out a deep sigh. Her hands fell from her face to the ground, grasping loosely at the dirt.

And as she sat in the silence, with only the gods as witness, she wept.

* * *

To say Robb was angry was an understatement. As soon as he had left the Godswood he had stalked his way to his mother, a scowl etched on his face. She was standing in the feasting hall, making all the final preparations for that night. "Mother," he greeted, coming to a stop in front of her. "Arya must be punished." Catelyn sighed and nodded.

"Your father is with her now. Rest assured, she will apologize to Lady Bria," she reassured.

"And Sansa? She was teasing her, mother, and everyone saw it. The Skagosi clearly did," he said, recalling Bria's head guard and his angry words, though he couldn't understand them. "We need to be careful with these people, mother." Catelyn smiled and softly cupped her sons cheek.

"When did you get so big? I remember being pregnant with you at Riverrun, wondering what you'd look like. And now here you are, a man grown and getting married in the morning," she said softly. She took her hand back and smiled once more. "I will speak to all of them again. Rickon is feeling better, he will be at the feast tonight. Perhaps he at least can gain her affections." Robb nodded, leaving the hall to enter the training yard.

He took off his large cloak and hung it on a nearby peg, taking out his sword. He paused only a moment before he began wailing on the dummy, taking out all his pent up nerves and aggression. As his body burned off the energy, he let his mind wonder to his bride. She was prettier than he expected her to be, but pretty wasn't the first word he's use to describe her.

She was... well, different to say the least. She was taller than him, something that he'd never hear the end of from Theon. She was broad, with wide set shoulders and, from what he could tell, hips, too. Her whole demeanor had come off awkward. He had just met her, but he could already tell she wasn't used to having a dress on. That was clear from her halted, less-than-graceful movements. Her people were different as well. Large, hairy, and seemingly incapable of smiling, Robb finally understood why some claimed they were descended from giants.

Robb could only pray he came off as kind to her, for he tried quite hard to. It would be an adjustment for everyone, but it was one he was willing to try and make. He didn't want the rest of his marriage to be filled with awkward pauses, with the pair dancing around each other. After a half hour Robb finally relented, putting his sword back in it's sheath. He grabbed his cloak and turned to leave, jumping when he came face to face with Lady Bria's guard.

"You are not so bad," his heavy accented voice rang out, jerking his chin towards the dummy. "For a boy," he added on after, a smirk pulling at his mouth. Robb grit his teeth but said nothing. Compared to the large, beast of a man before him, he _was_ a boy.

"I'm afraid I never got your name, my Lord," Robb responded. The man let out some strange sort of scratchy cawing, which Robb, with a thin feeling of disgust, realized was a laugh.

"I'm no Lord, boy. We only have one Lord on Skagos," he said, voice hard. Robb's jaw clenched as he fought the urge to retort. How dare this_ savage_ insult his father, his true liege lord, in his own home? "I am Morrigin. I have watched over the Lady Bria since the day she came into this world. _I_ was the one who guarded over her mother's birthing chamber," he explained, taking a few steps closer to him. "And I am the one you will have to deal with if you hurt her."

The man said nothing else and left no room for response as he twirled on his feet and stalked off to a group of his men, barking some orders at them in the Old Tongue. Robb's hand was clenched so tightly around the hilt of his sword, he was sure there would be indentations in his hands even through his leather gloves. "Charming lot," Jon's voice came from behind him, "aren't they?"

Robb shook his head, still looking at the men. "How is this ever going to work, Jon? They're basically wildlings. They'll never have a place here," he said. Jon's face fell, though he couldn't see it. It wasn't so different from him not having a place there. In some ways, the bastard sympathized with the Lady Bria.

"Give it time," he suggested, clapping a hand on his brother's shoulder. "It'll become easier." Robb pursed his lips, before turning to face his brother. He sighed and slung an arm across his shoulders.

"Aye, Snow. Maybe. C'mon, we've got a feast to get ready for."

* * *

When Morrigin knocked on her door and not Robb, she was nothing short of relieved. Her promised made her uncomfortable. She could appreciate that he seemed to be trying, but it didn't make everything any less strange. This entire place was strange to her.

Morrigin took in her appearance and let out a 'humph' of disapproval. This time she was in a real dress, not a tied skirt. The dress was a plain brown that's corset tied in the front instead of the back, with a deep green ribbon instead of string. The ribbon ended in a pretty bow that rest above her naval and made the dress look a little nicer than it actually was.

"You dinna look yourself, my lady. I don't like this at all," he said, a frown forming on his face. He glanced around the hallway, ensuring they weren't being spied upon. _"It's not too late, my lady. We could leave right now."_

_"We couldn't," _she denied, shaking her head, "_Lord Stark's men would be after us, we'd never make it to the harbor. And even if we did, we'd be starting a war we couldn't finish,"_ she said sadly. "_This is my life now, Morrigin. And who knows," _she said, forcing a smile onto her cheeks, "I may end up liking it here. Come on then, to the wolves we go."

Her sworn shield escorted her through the dark halls of the castle. She could hear a faint noise in the distance which steadily grew louder the farther they walked. As she came to the doors of the Feasting Hall, it became apparent what the noise was. The room had sectioned itself into two halves. On the left of the doors sat the Skagosi, all laughing and talking amongst themselves in their foreign tongue. On the other side of the room sat the Westerosi, all whispering and snickering and sending very obvious looks to their 'lesser' guests.

"Magnara!" One of her men, Thanos cheered out, lifting his ale horn in greeting. The rest of her people echoed his cheer in greeting, a small smile gracing her face.

_"I hope we are all on our best behavior this evening?"_ she asked, giving a few of the looser men a pointed glance. Thanos scoffed, waving his horn in the air.

_"These little people drink piss!"_ A few men cheered in agreement. _"I'll never be drunk again with this shit."_

Bria rolled her eyes but smiled none the less. Thanos was the best friend of her older brother, Bantrok, and she held a soft spot for him. Morrigan took a seat next to the large man, leaving Bria standing by herself in the middle of the hall. She looked to the head of the room, only to see the eyes of the Stark family all trained on her and her people.

Bria braced herself and forced her smile to stay as she ascended to the high table where her betrothed and his parents sat, taking the empty seat between Robb and Lord Eddard. Ever the gentleman, Lord Stark stood and pulled out her chair for her, to which she gave him a real smile. "You look lovely, my lady. The green compliments you," Lady Catelyn said, though her kind tone seemed forced. "I myself find that green compliments my hair."

Bria nodded awkwardly, toying with the bow. "Thank you. It is one of my House colors, my Lady," she explained. She quietly picked up her fork and began cutting her meat.

"Ah, yes, House Magnar," Lady Catelyn said. "A green lobster on a white field, correct?" Bria smiled and nodded. At least the mother appeared to be making some sort of effort. "I must ask, my Lady, why it is your name is Magnara and not Magnar?"

Bria smiled and this and paused, thinking of the best way to describe. "A girl's family name changes as her status does," she said. "I was born Bria Magnar. When I," she paused, thinking of the best way to word it, "became a woman, I became Magnara, to show I was suitable to marry. After I marry, I will be addressed as Starkaya, to show I am a Stark by marriage and taken. You, for example, would be Lady Starkaya as well."

"I see," she said, "Is this usual for people of the Old Tongue?"

"From what I understand it is practiced only on Skagos. Many centuries ago, before the three houses, every person had the name of their tribe. Many tribes spoke different dialects of Old Tongue. The girls would take the different endings to show other tribes their status, incase the dialects clashed or there were miscommunications," she explained.

"Well seeing as you are now in Winterfell and will be using the Common Tongue, I hardly see the need to follow such rules," Catelyn spoke, not bothering to look up from her meal. Bria pursed her lips and sat back in her chair. She supposed she was right, but this would be just another part of her culture she'd be forced to give up. The night went on much like this, Robb's parents attempting to make small talk while he sat in silence and Bria attempted to keep her cool as Catelyn unknowingly insulted her.

"My Lady," Robb finally spoke as they neared the end of their meal. "I'd like to introduce you to my youngest brother, Rickon. He was unable to greet you this afternoon." An adorable small boy poked his head out from the side of Robb's leg, staring up at her with wide eyes. He couldn't be more than four, but already she could tell he'd grow to be handsome like his elder brothers.

"Hello," she greeted, giving him a pretty smile. "I'm Bria."

"Hello," he echoed back, shifting on his feet. Her eyes flickered down to his hands which held a medium sized figurine to his chest. It was a wooden knight with painted armor upon a horse, jousting lance in hand. Bria motioned towards it.

"Is that your knight?" Rickon pulled it tighter against his chest.

"Yes. His name is Torrehn," he said, before holding it out a bit to show her. Bria smiled and took the knife from the table, bringing it to her green ribbon. She took one of the pieces hanging loose and swiftly cut it, earning a noise of surprise, and no doubt disgust, from Catelyn. She took the small portion of the ribbon and tied it tightly around the knight's lance.

"There. Every knight needs a Lady's favor," she said pointedly. Rickon's face heated to a dark red and he shrank against Robb, but Bria could see he was pleased. Robb gently pushed him towards the lower tables and he skipped away to Jon Snow. Bria giggled as she watched him hold the knight up to his older brother and lightly tug on the green ribbon, flaunting the new addition.

"You've seemed to charm him," Robb pointed out, once again taking his seat. It was the first time that night that he made to speak with her. Bria smiled, watching his small figure.

"He reminds me of my brother, Henrik, when we were younger."

"Have you many siblings, my Lady?" Bria hummed.

"I've seven older brothers. I'm the youngest, and the only girl. They were quiet disappointed they couldn't come and meet you," she added on, mouth turning up slightly at his stunned expression.

"I suppose that was difficult for you, being around so many boys," he finally said. Bria shook her head.

"Hardly. I loved it. They all spoiled me rotten, and took me everywhere with them. They were very protective, though." Robb arched an eyebrow, asking her to go on. "When I was 12 a boy called me name. It was meant as a compliment, really. But my brother Magnus hit him so hard he slept for four days," she said, a wide grin spreading across her face. But when she turned to her betrothed, she saw only bewilderment and faint disgust. Her smile fell and she cleared her throat, looking forward. Apparently the injury of weak men wasn't funny on the mainland, she thought.

An awkward silence filled the space between them as they looked for a topic acceptable to speak about. It was Robb who finally broke it. "I, uh. I hope I don't disappoint you tomorrow, my Lady. I've tried my best to learn the wedding traditions of the Old Ways, but..." he trailed off. Bria let out a small laugh, picking at the fraying edge of the freshly cut ribbon.

"I'm sure you will do just fine, my Lord. I am grateful you took my traditions into mind. Despite what some may think, we Skagosi are a very religious people."

"Of course, my Lady," Robb said, giving her a pleasant smile. "You are to be Lady of Winterfell. I intend to make you, and your beliefs, feel welcome within its walls."

Bria appreciated the sentiment, but she couldn't help feeling he was doing a poor job of it so far. Still, at least he was trying, as she was. Perhaps, one day, they could finally meet in the middle. The pair spent the rest of the night in silence, both contemplating their marriage and the years to come. That night, the last time either would fall asleep outside the confines of marriage, they both prayed for the same thing- that the Gods could let them, one day, at least be friends.

Unbeknownst to them, that day was far to come.


End file.
